I love the way you never give up. I love the way no matter how ruthless, mean, harsh kids were you never stopped being you. You never gave in and became a bully yourself. You always loved so hard with all your heart. You were always there for anyone and helped them to see the light out of the darkest times possible. You had such charisma and character always going above and beyond. You took the cards you were dealt and handled them.

I used to be embarrassed
of my sensitivity, my feelings, my heart
I was made to feel ashamed,
like my softness was a weakness
But what I didn’t realize then
was that those who shamed me
felt threatened by my vulnerability
and my capacity to feel
because that was a weakness of their own
Either because they could not understand
what it was like to feel so deeply
Or because they did not know how to respond
to something so profound
Or because they were unable to sit
in the discomfort of vulnerability
Whatever the reason,
it was always their problem-
not mine

My vulnerability, my capacity to feel, my softness,
and my unapologetic need
to express what’s in my heart
This is my strength,
my superpower,
my bulletproof vest
protecting me from regret
ensuring I always stay on the path
that’s intended for me

Sometimes it feels like a curse
to feel everything so deeply
and to be so painfully aware of it all
but I’ve learned to love this about myself
It’s rare, it makes me me
It lets me live my life in full color
I experience every single day to its full capacity
my senses always heightened
my heart sinking and swelling
countless times each day
I feel the entire spectrum of emotion
with burning intensity
all in one day
and I wouldn’t have it any other way
Anything else would feel
boring, dull, muted, incomplete
At least this way,
I get to feel and experience
every single thing
that life has in store for me

My heart, my sensitivity, my capacity to feel,
these things were never a weakness
I’ve just spent a lifetime surrounded
by people who did not understand my soul
but now I understand me
and that’s all I need

I had every intention of writing something perfect for this submission, as any artist knows – perfection is the antithesis of the process. Please enjoy, I apologize for any typographical errors, this is being submitted as a first draft – I wrote this in my Uber on the way home from the airport.

Tonight, while flying home from my childhood home, I witnessed a man die for the first time. At 7:18pm, I bought my favorite candy – skittles – and a bottle of water. Boarding started at 7:23 and I was gleeful to make the timing after the abhorrent flight adventure of the past 5 days. I texted my mom, thanking her for the meals she made me while I played cards with my dad each night. There is nothing more privileged than getting to lay your head to rest in your childhood bedroom. My room, once painted hot pink – now the walls are beige – is filled with books, journals, cds and sports participation medals. When I lay in my childhood bed and stare at the ceiling, I can faintly see the pencil reacting from 2000 stating “I love Luke”. Luke aka my elementary school LOVE. It only takes a couple of mornings back home for me to become annoyed with the noise level in the morning. As mom makes coffee, dad opens the garage to leave for work and my sister comes over for breakfast with her son – it only takes a couple of days for me to groan “ughhhh I can’t wait to be back in MY home, MY apartment where none of this noise wakes me up!” I dreamt of being able to say that to myself when those walls were still hot pink. Fantasizing about the cities I’d live in, the adventures I’d encounter. I often lived in my head, seeing the promise of optimism in the world. When I was a child, I believed that the big blue lake sparkled because mermaids had hidden diamonds under the sand. When I stared at the tall trees and their magnificent branches, I thought about how fairies and caterpillars must cohabitate. Because something and everything as wondrous as nature in this physical world MUST include a bit of magic. As I’ve aged, that wonder and amazement has somehow persisted. Through heart break, depression, abuse, loss, desperation – that glimpse of the world with the sparkling waters and magnificent tree branches remain. Albeit, stifled. Pushed down so as to not seem gullible or weak. Compartmentalized so that I can be taken seriously, the way I so badly wanted everyone – specifically my love, Luke – to take me seriously in 2000. My life’s path has been jagged with twists and turns, like most. But when I go home, my home home, not my apartment in Atlanta. Not the rooms all around the country that I so willingly shared the name of HOME with. It is in those moments that I hear her again, whispering in my inner conscious – do you see how the dew collects on those flower petals? Magic. Do you see how the sun shines through the cumulous clouds? Magic. Do you want to go an adventure? Where and how far? The whispers grow as I’m cocooned in my childhood bed, watching the narratives paint themselves over the beige walls until they return to hot pink.

Skittles in hand, I watched a man who was maybe 70 years old topple forward as Zone 4 was boarding the flight. I was Zone 5 and eager to get back home to my apartment in Atlanta. Someone screamed as individuals ran to the large body and turned him over. He was bleeding on his forehead and his limbs were limp. A civilian nurse immediately began CPR after a gentleman yelled “he’s not breathing, call 911”! The rest of the flight backed up to give the first responders space when they arrived at 7:32. They ripped his jeans to give him a shot that I assume was adrenaline, and hooked him up to the AED machine. “CLEAR” they yelled as the man next to me asked the gate attendants when they expected we could board again. A woman standing next to me grabbed my hand, it was then that I realized that we were watching this man leave this physical realm. As tears filled the gate area around me, my own life flashed before my eyes. I thought about my mom’s meals, how loud my family was every morning, playing cards with my dad. I thought about the glistening waters, hugging my dog and how it felt to lay in my childhood bed among my memories. I thought about this man, his family, how did he once see the world? Where was his home? Did he ever get to experience love or feel the magic I so firmly once believed in? By 7:46, they had rolled his body onto the EMS transport and off he went with police escort. First responders left behind shook their heads, wiping off sweat. We were boarded and off to Atlanta by 8:01pm.
I now sit in my apartment and am staring at the ceiling, wishing I could be home again. Nothing feels the same as it did when I bought those skittles.
I have prayed but now, I’ll write this letter to my inner child, reminding her of all that life hopes to bear.

Dear KK,

Never lose your heart. Your sense of humanity. You have experienced the darkest hours and still held on to the light. Your ferocious kindness is a gift, not a weakness to be stifled. Your lust of for learning, your compassion for humanity is a gift – not a hindrance. Although there will be days that the shine doesn’t feel as bright, find the glitter. Sprinkle it for yourself and others. Believe that good will always prevail. Perfection has never been what you seek, stay the course of adventure. Steady the hand that convinces you the world is beige, rather than hot pink. You are all you ever imagined and you have all you could have ever hoped for. Never stop calling in those you love, so that they too can see the vastness of life from your magical perspective. Remember that home is a feeling, one that can be carried with you to many new places and will hold you tight when at terminal A18 in Detroit. Time is an illusion, 40 minutes can feel like a lifetime and for some. I love that life impacts you and you hold it even more close.

Until you can no longer, be love. Be big. Be you.

To my better half,

I would typically start with something like, “Hope this letter finds you well”, but we both know that’s not the case, so I’ll skip the pleasantries and cut to the chase.

Buckle up, kid. It’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better.

I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. You’re trying to tune out the fighting, doors slamming, and that bathroom mirror shattering into hundreds of pieces. She’s hoping you’re too young to understand what’s happening or that you won’t remember when you get older, but it’s all still there, locked away in a dusty little cabinet of dark memories. To be fair, most days you won’t think about it, but you can still feel it, like a stain on the carpet that you forget about until company comes over and the whole time you’re wondering if they notice.

I could offer you reassurance that none of this is your fault; that she’s doing her absolute best to protect you, and if she knew how it was affecting you she would have found a way out a lot sooner. I could tell you how liberating it’ll be when you finally watch that gray house get smaller and smaller until it fades in the rearview knowing you will never see it again, or how a musty cot feels like a California king when you can rest your head knowing you won’t be woken in the middle of the night to sneak out to the minivan while he’s still asleep and can’t stop us from leaving.

But I know that’s not enough. You’re living through a hell so few could comprehend, and it’s not fair. No amount of sympathy or advice is going to change that. And even when that nightmare ends it seems like there’s always another obstacle to work around, another person trying to take control, or another consequence of someone else’s bad decisions you have to overcome.

The only thing I can tell you that might give you the slightest bit of hope is this; you are the best part of me. When I can’t get out of bed because the weight is just too heavy, or I feel like I’m not enough, I reach for you. I stare past my reflection in that broken mirror and call to that little girl who is somehow strong enough to get up every morning with the hope that today will be better than yesterday. That girl is scared but strong. She’s angry, but she’s kind. The flames you’re fighting now become the guiding light that brings me back when I forget who I am and what I’m capable of.

This is long overdue because you won’t hear it from anyone else, but I’m sorry. And I am so proud of you.

All my love,

– Alyssa